Inimical
by Maya Sushi
Summary: Flynn Ryder didnt have to think about these things. Flynn Ryder didnt have to think about these things because his life was wonderful, perfect. Eugene Fitzherbert did, because his life wasnt. It hurt so much to be Eugene again, Flynn hated it.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Tangled. Sadly. And I do not own Flynn Ryder, which would be the best thing ever. Besides maybe owning Aladdin. Or Hiccup.

_**A/N: **_So, I've been reading, well, all of the fiction for this story. And I love it all, really. I think the fluff department has it covered, I don't need to help out. They're just so cute together that it happens no matter what. I, like I usually do, would like to take a super cute and happy story that ended nicely, and twist it into angst and abuse and hurt. Among other things. For some reason, it's just what likes to come out of my head. :)

* * *

_**Inimical**_

Once upon a time, there was a man named Flynn Ryder.

Once upon a time before that time, there was a boy named Eugene Fitzherbert.

Flynn Ryder was dashing. He was a heart breaker, a ruthless, conniving, scandalous, willful man. He was strong. He was bold and brash and cunning. And best of all, he was free.

Eugene Fitzherbert was loving. He was kind, a caring, brave, loyal, warm, and mindful boy. He was sweet. He was intelligent and inspired and dreaming. But free? That he was not.

_**Chapter One**_

_**Rapunzel**_

"Eugene?" Rapunzel mumbled, sensing his restlessness, her lips brushing against the skin of his bare shoulder, and he started in surprise, his breath ragged in his chest. Her head shot up, big green eyes searching his face, her brows furrowed in concern and confusion. "Eugene?" she asked once more, sounding almost urgent, "Eugene what's wrong?"

His eyes stretched wide, the dark sienna hues almost indiscernible from the darkness of the room. His gaze flickered to her quickly and then away once more, just as fast. He turned his face from her.

"What is it?" she pressed, sitting up and feeling the sheets slip away from her figure. She shivered in the new cold of the night, wishing she had more than her veil of a nightgown. She looked at him fearfully, unsure of what to do, of what could possibly be wrong. She had never had to comfort anyone before, recently Eugene had been doing so for her, but she wasn't sure she knew how to do the same.

She placed a steady hand on his cheek, pulling him to face her, an action he had performed with a distressed Rapunzel many times in the past. It seemed to work well enough on him as well, as he hesitantly set his sights on her roving eyes. Something was definitely wrong. Eugene was never hesitant. "What's the matter?"

He swallowed, his breath was still coming fast, as if he were terrified, "It's nothing," he hastily replied, sounding breathless and guilty, most likely over the alarmed state that he had put her in, "I just had a nightmare."

Rapunzel had never had a nightmare until she left her tower. The first night, when Gothel had appeared and had given her the crown, assuring her that _mother knows best_ and that _Flynn would leave her, _that was her first night of troubled sleep. Dreams had always been filled with wonderful, joyous things for her, and she had been appalled upon waking with a start, images of Flynn's retreating back fresh in her mind. She had not even known that dreams could be just as horrible as they could be lovely. It was a horrible realization.

She had had many night terror since then. Dreams of Eugene, bleeding out on the floor of a tower, and her, helpless against the situation, her hair turned brown and dead on the floor. Dreams of Gothel, of _"I love you, I love you more, I love you most."'s. _Where her "mother" would reach out for her, and before she could get to Rapunzel she would waste away, grow old and sickly and crumble into dust before fading away into eternity.

She had never really thought about Eugene having nightmares too.

"What was it about?" she asked, scooting closer to im and placing her chin delicately upon his broad chest, pulling the covers once more to encase her chilling shoulders. She recalled her retellings to him previously, and how much better it had felt to let it out of her frenzied mind.

He tensed up instantly, muscles suddenly twitching alert beneath the pads of her fingertips. She looked curiously up at him once more, concern spread across her petite features.

"It was just a dream, I don't even remember it now," he admitted after a long moment, relaxing, but only slightly, and his arms tightened around her.

"Okay," she said, not thinking anything of it. She often forgot her dreams upon waking. She slid herself up his body, giving him a lazy, languid meeting of her lips against his, trying to reassure him even more that he was okay. He did not return her kiss immediately, but when he did it was passionate, his lips pushing against hers as if he would never kiss her again. His hands raising up to her head to frame her face, holding her securely to himself. There was desperation in his kiss, and she didn't understand it.

When they broke apart she buried her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling him deeply and feeling slightly winded. When she had collected her thoughts, she placed a soft kiss on the column of his long throat and turned her head, laying her ear upon his heartbeat.

"What was that about?" she whispered in question.

But he was already asleep.

She smiled, and placed another swift kiss of his lips, before tucking herself into the crook of his arm and drifting off herself.

* * *

_**A/N: **_A quick one to start it off. Hope you enjoyed this, I've never really strayed from Fullmetal Alchemist much before, but I hope Tangled will take to my presence.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Tangled, nor the fact that I wrote all of this at different instances of "it's one o' clock in the morning" -ness.

_**A/N: **_Thank you so much for all the awesome reviews! There are two bad words in this chapter, if you don't appreciate things like that, I'll just warn ya that I swear occasionally. But I'm not going to, per say, make Rapunzel swear, because that would just be purely out of character, so don't worry yourself.

Mhmm, little heavy on the angst in this one possibly, but that's fine with me. Next one's may be a slightly milder, though my plans work only two percent of the time. Anyway, tell me what you think again guys! You're awesome!

On another note... I've completely forgotten what the word Inimical means! That's weird!

_**

* * *

**__**Inimical**_

* * *

Flynn Ryder knows of many things. He loves to steal, his fingers itch for the thrill of theft and the shocking euphoria of success. That when he wraps his digits around an item he desires it becomes his, that all he must do is reach out and _take_ something and it is as simple as that. He his good at being arrogant – at being over confident, egotistical, ruggedly handsome – he has practiced these things. They are not hard. He is a brilliant strategist, at times, and at other times he lacks any sense at all, but he is wonderful at thinking on his feet. Mostly, though, he is good at running away.

* * *

**Two**

**Flynn**

"There are few things you cannot do when you are running, and one of them, is to stop."

"Stop? A nice way to say 'caught and hung' maybe," Flynn chanced a mock glare of suspicion at his temporary companion, "also a pretty cute start to a good 'I'm about to catch and hang you' speech. Sure you are who you say you are?"

The tall, fair-haired man snorts and chuckles with laughter. His face is covered by freckle that seem out of place when compared to his imposing presence, uncharacteristic even, but really, they're probably not. "I have not told you who I am."

Flynn only grunts in response, taking the whiskey before him in one brave swig before looking back up at the man with a sheepish grin."Joking," he explains, needlessly, "it may seem you enjoy running though, and bad drinking establishments." The burn that ripped through his throat was not the same satisfying sensation that it should be. He stuck out his tongue, like a dissatisfied child. He very much was one, in fact.

"It seems so," the man agrees, his voice is heavy with an accent Flynn does not recognize, and does not bother considering any further than acknowledgment, "and I know who you are, Flynn Ryder, so I thought the advice might be well-intended."

At Flynn's wary glance he elaborated, "You are aware that your face is displayed in almost every inch of this entire country, aren't you?"

Flynn grinned wryly, "_My _face? Nonsense, it's not me. Have you seen those noses?" He runs a hand through his matted brown locks then, and thinks over how he had just been running, only moments ago. Panic tears through him, unexpectedly, and he feels himself seize up with the shock of it. _There are few things you cannot do when you are running, _he hears again, _and one of them, is to stop. _What had he done? He had stopped. He had been running and then he had stopped.

He couldn't stop running.

A large hand grabbed tight a hold of his shoulder, and he fought the almost irresistable urge to _get away_. Don't touch me. He wants to yell those word, but he can't. He can't. Can't get away.

He is trapped.

"Then again," a drawling voice pulls him back into reality so quickly it is as if he has been slapped, and he stares dumbly with wide eyes up at the blond man, "if you always run, eventually you will have nowhere left to go. You will lose track of everything behind you, and lose sight of what it was that was before you. What will there be to run for then? You cannot run away forever."

Flynn blinked in surprise, "That's not what you say."

"What?"

"You were supposed to say, 'Then again, if you always run, you will run out of places to go. If you run and run and run, then one day, you will just up and die.'"

"Personally, I like the new one better. It's a bit more topical. Don't you think so? Eugene?"

Flynn's gaze whipped to the other side of the man, as he was not addressing him. There was another on the man's side, and Flynn's breath caught in his throat, his mouth going dry. It was_ him. _He was sitting at the bar, two seats down, nursing his whiskey in his hand and staring numbly down at the wood of the bar.

Eugene looked downhearted, softer than him, as if he were an entirely different person as a whole, residing in Flynn's body. He looked down at his own hands, just to make sure it hadn't been stolen from him by some stranger. "No," Eugene whimpered, "don't ask me. This is Flynn's dream."

"That's right," he felt himself saying, "this is _my _dream... and – hold on... What?"

* * *

Flynn shot out of his bed as if he were being attacked, his breath escaped his lungs at an ungodly speed and he found himself struggling just to gain it back. He looked at his bed with disdain – hardly even recalling the moment in which he had fled it – the soft silk sheets askew and the ridiculously cush coverlet that had warmed him piled in a heap upon the floor. Frivilous items – when the world lived in such poverty it almost made him feel shameful that he had let those trifuls encompass him only moments before.

He had hardly slept properly in a bed since he was ten years old.

This, surely, was why the bed was so painfully _uncomfortable. _He felt threatened when he lay on it, as if it was all a trick. As if this illusion of security was simply a rouse to get him within their walls. This is where they can not only capture him, but provide a proper mindfuck as well. They could fill his brain with "Rapunzel"'s and "pardon"'s and "here's your fancy room"'s, but they were just waiting, just going to give him everything he's ever dreamed of so that they can rip it away once again. Twice the damage, this was – revenge, per say.

He felt like running.

So he ran to the balcony and swallowed the urge to be sick.

_You're Flynn Ryder_, he thinks, as the guards purposely reroute to pass by his room for the third time that night, sputtering in laughter and scraping their weapons against the wood of his door, _and this is not you._

"So stop it," he spits as he collects himself, white knuckled grip straining around the rail of the balcony.

Flynn wouldn't let them screw with him. He would be one step ahead – or at the very least improvising the hell out of the situation – he would rebel. He would make them wish they had never concocted this wicked plot. He'd steal something and run for the hills, most likely.

That is, not get caught unaware only because he was busy pining over some woman. A princess, no less.

There had been a moment when he had believed that perhaps he had found the woman of his dreams. Someone so innocent and pure, someone so easily corruptible. They could find their riches and steal way to his island somewhere, and surround themselves with gold.

That time had passed, however, and how was he to know that while stealing a precious heirloom of a crown he would find the lost princess whom it belonged to. These things have a way of _being_, ironic, that is, so it is no wonder that he has been faced by such horrible luck.

He had never been lucky.

It is a night when he wishes desperately that Rapunzel would steal out of her room in the early hours of the morning. When all he wants is to hear her soft, bare feet padding through the hue-less hallways and venture in to his own chambers. He wants her to be here to stave off the worry, the paranoia, the constant fear. To lie with him in that bed and make it something wonderful rather than terrible.

And Eugene, he's getting a kick out of this, isn't he?

No, on second thought, Eugene wants these things. Flynn wants the opposite. Flynn does not want this beautiful, too-innocent, vixen and epitome of naivetee in his bedroom. He does not wish she would melt his heavy qualms and careening, conspiring suspicions away. No, because even though he loves her – even Flynn can admit _this_ now, after all, he had died for her – and even though it is not her fault in the slightest, that is what they would surely want. A gentle soul to assuage his discovery of their premeditated cabal. He would not be a fool.

He felt like running.

So he did. He ran out of his hard wooden door, fully dressed and with all intentions to... Well, he wasn't sure yet, but it was going to be great. There was a tingle of excitement zig-zagging up his spine, a tremor of the thrill he had missed so much. He was Flynn Ryder god damn it! They could try to stop him, but they would never succeed. _Go ahead and do it! Go ahead and TRY!_

There was a feeling like sinking, as if he were a stone dropped carelessly into a puddle of water, plummeting to the floor of wet clay and squelching mud. Or, better yet, he was a stone that was flat and fast, agile, skipped across a wide berth of liquid and loved intensely for one breif moment, tearing through life while people stopped and pointed and called, _"Hey, look at that!"_, all in the span of a breath, chaos rippling beneath him. Then, on the exhale, he would fall. It felt like drowning. It felt like suffocating. It felt like resurfacing only to be brought back down beneath again, back underneath some unrelenting, bone-crushing weight. To struggle, to fall apart.

This was the opposite of the thrill he had felt at the beginning of his flight. This was dread. Where had this come from?

Eugene had taken over at some point, the change so incomprehensible and quick that even he had hardly noticed it, and while Flynn was doing his best to stifle, to ignore this desperate pain that rose up in his chest, Eugene had redirected them.

There was a haze all around him when Flynn opened the door. He was so sure, though, of what he was doing, of how this was not what he wanted – but, wasn't it? There was pressure everywhere, emanating from unspeakable things, unthinkable things that _Eugene _had dug up. The flesh beneath his eyes burned and he blinked hard, eyes adjusting to the new light of her bedroom lamp. He only had a second to wonder why she was still awake before the panic set in. What the hell was he doing? Why was he here?

_Go ahead and do it! Go ahead and TRY!_

He felt like running.

Everything was shattering around him, but it was too fast, in a way that put everything back together again. That was wrong. That didn't make sense. But neither did this, any of it... And _why was __he here?_

There was a woman on fire reaching for him, _"Run," _she whispered, _"don't stop." _Before her cells began to melt and her features began to morph, mutate, dissolve. There was blood and heat and pain and through it all the feeling of his feet, disappearing one frenzied step after another away into eternity, again and again, forward, behind, leaving, running. _There are few things you cannot do while running..._

(Forget, surely, but Rapunzel's voice pierces through this strange delirium he has inaugurated unwillingly, _"Eugene? What's the matter?" _but it's not enough to tear him away. No, it's only enough to remind him of who he is.)

_...and one of those things..._

(There is a girl now, with pale skin so afflicted and pallid that it scares him, so frozen that it chills his already frigid bones. _"Eugene?" _she aritculates, she is so young. Her voice is cracking like ice and the air before her exhibitive orifice is ripe with steam. _"What's wrong?"_)

_...is to..._

_("Look at me, there's nothing wrong. No, no, no, no, NO! Look! Just __**look!**__Come on, right here! It's fine, everything's fine, everything's gonna be okay. You just have to keep looking at me. Okay? No! No, no, no, look, okay? Would it help if I told you a story? A Flynnigan Ryder story? __**No**__, a story about __**us**__, okay? Just keep looking at me, and I'll tell you the __**best story ever**__. We're gonna go on the __**greatest**__ adventure, better than __**all**__ of Ryder's! Listen, just listen, alright?Once upon a time...")_

_...stop._

He felt like running.

"Eugene? _Eugene!"_

Stop.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Tangled. I own a keyboard, some tea, and... A monkey slave. No, I wish though, he'd probably be able to secure the rights of Tangled for me or something, ya know? Monkeys have their ways and shit.

**_A/N: _**Have I already said bad words in this fiction yet? I don't remember. However, there is the word FUCK in this story, and if that offends you... Then, I probably shouldn't have put it in capital letters. But I write with said words occasionally - and if I'm taking a more real life perspective on this I do believe that Flynn would be the more vulgar type. I promise not to abuse swear words, you have my word (this isn't FMA, and Flynn's no Edward Elric, if anyone understands that).

Also, I spelled Flynn's last name wrong like a million and one times. Even though I like it _better _spelled with two "y"s, he's not Lynyrd Skynyrd, and that just isn't canon. So I apologize. (It may be a while before I actually go back and fix it though, because I'm terribly lazy.)

Props to everyone who tried their hand at guessing what the hell was going through Flynn's mind back there. I think only... Like... Two people were right, but there were, kinda, sorta multiple answers... So that's probably why. And thanks for all the reviews! You guys are awesome :)

* * *

_**Inimical**_

* * *

When he awoke, Flynn was gone entirely.

A defense mechanism of sorts, most likely, that Flynn would flee when the situation got too taxing, too personal for him to handle. The only problem was that he really was Flynn, and Eugene couldn't hold everything together for him forever.

His eyes darted beneath his closed eyelids and his fingers grappled lithely at the cloth encompassing his fingertips. Flynn had instincts, purely autoschediastical things, that he had acquired from a variety of sources. Eugene, though, had a different set of acquired senses, ones learned by trial and error, taught by fear, and enforced by punishment. Flynn had these as well, but he thought not of where they originated from, simply thanked his blessings that he be gifted with natural talents of the sort.

These, however, were the calm, omniscient thoughts of a middle man: an overseer who guided Flynn and Eugene and tried his damndest to do something about all of this. This huge mess that everything had somehow escalated into.

As we already know, however, when he awoke, Flynn was gone entirely.

* * *

**_Three_**

**_Eugene_**

Eugene's eyes darted beneath his closed eyelids and his fingers grappled lithely at the cloth encompassing his fingertips.

He inhaled silently, catching only a passing aroma of books, of paint, of tea, and of...

...Rapunzel.

His eyes snapped open, pupils dialating and then shrinking rapidly against the harsh burn of the sudden illumination. He was lying in her bed, in her chambers, and she was lying beside him. Fast asleep, he noted, before noticing the stain of tear tracks trailing down the planes of her cheeks. Why was he here? Why had she been crying?

Only flashes of memories from the night before could reach his mind. He had left his room, intent on something. Had it been escape? He had been running, surely, but had it been to her? _Go ahead and TRY! Do it! _Then there was fire, and there was a book (_filled with tales of a certain Flynnigan Rider no doubt...), _there was her: Rapunzel, asking _"Eugene? What's the matter? Eugene? Eugene!"_, there was the a rush of naseau that must have overwhelmed him and... No, he couldn't work it out, everything was too ambiguous, already the memories were taking on the hazy sheen of a dream-like quality. They lingered in the back of his mind in horrifying fits of pressure, but they could not be figured, there was too much white noise all throughout his brain, drowning out all the individual insignifigants. Moments later, all that there was was Eugene Fitzherbert, lying in bed with the Princess Rapunzel.

He decided that it would be almost criminal of him to wake her slumbering form, as she looked so angelic and peaceful where she lay. (If his vague memories were accurate, she must have been in some sort of distress, and was no doubt exhausted.) So he rose from the mattress with as much stealth as he could manage, not a single sound escaping the creak of his joints or the bending of springs beneath his weight. He was an expert on things of this caliber. He could brush her teeth without her noticing, most likely, if only he were quiet enough. He could have been.

It seemed that rising to his feet had not been the best decision on his part, as a wave of vertigo so strong that he instantly stumbled swept over him the moment his spine had straightened itself out. _"Fuck!" _He ground out, biting back the audible bits of the word in alarm after realizing his mistake, and swallowing hard in the hopes that he had stifled his outburst properly. Hand on the nightstand and attempting to steady himself, he chanced a look back at the sleeping blonde, she had not stirred, and he heaved a sigh of relief. His Rapunzel was a sound sleeper, something he likely would never be able to understand - for he had never truly slept soundly in all his twenty-two years - a direct result of the safety that had always encompassed her life. He envied her for it, in a way. Not for the tower that had kept her away from the world, of course, but for the pain that it spared her. He would never wish cruelty upon her.

His eyes darted swiftly to the large window adorning her far wall, taking in the sight of the sun as it rose over the edges of the kingdom. It was such a beautiful view, but...

He didn't have long until her chamber-maids and attendants came to begin readying her for the day. With a scowl on his face, he moved across her floor silently, Rapunzel's life had been insanely busy and overloaded since she had become princess. (It was such a stark contrast to how her life had been for the first eighteen years, he wondered how she handled it at all. Then again, maybe she didn't.) He didn't necessarily enjoy it one bit. If it was up to him, they'd just blow this joint, get the hell away from all the priss and perfection and find themselves somewhere nice to... Adventure together.

His wanderlust was screaming at him, rattling his brain. _Don't you dare settle down! _Inception, clearly, ideas that he felt deep within the confines of his brain. Like claws. _You're not meant for this life. Leave. Leave._

He felt like running.

He froze, another memory rushing back to him like the clearest of skies on a bright summer day. His feet had stilled before the long vanity opposite Rapunzel's bed and he watched his reflection as it stilled and then ceased movement all together. He stared into his own dark eyes and felt something very akin to fear wash over him. Like winter, it creeped beneath his skin, branching out with a spidery web of despair and crawling through his nerves. There was a harsh burn behind his eyes, a feeling he vaguely recognized, but it was foreign all the same, as if his sinuses had all seized up and were folding in on themselves, rolling into a tight ball of deception. He was so cold, so suddenly, that he shivered with the feeling of it, watching as the tremor worked its way rapidly up the contours of his form. He shook.

Why was this happening? Why now?

_"Eugene?" _It was a soft, fleeting voice that permeated his treacherous thoughts. The memories that were threatening to wash over him in a tsunami of fear halted abruptly, he had his priorities straight, it seemed, unconciously... Somewhere. His shoulders stiffened regardless, and he turned to her as slowly as he could manage without arousing some sort of suspicion. If it was at all possible, he would like to dissuade her from concern.

"Hey Blondie," he responded, feigning enthusiasm came so naturally to him that it would have been a shock - if it had not been so damn natural, "mornin'. How are you feeling?"

Her large green eyes simply regarded him for a few, agonizingly long seconds, before they widened slightly in disbelief. She was erect in her - oversized, naturally - bed the next moment, gaping openly at him in a way that left every emotion she felt so readable in her face that it temporarily blinded him. She was so expressive. "How am _I _feeling? How am _I feeling?" _

"Yeah," he snorted in a gentle tease, flashing her a grin, his nerves beating hard against his bones, "That's what I asked. Sure you shouldn't sleep in for a little while, sunshine?"

"Eugene." She chided, but sounded entirely more serious than he would have preferred. Before she had the opportunity to speak again, he was already off like a rocket.

"... So I was just thinking that I'd better be up and out of here soon. While I don't doubt you and your lovely servants would _love _the company of real, macho hero and damsel-rescuer like me, I do doubt that they would be too pleased about me being around while they're changing your clothes and prettying you up. It's probably dreadfully boring anyway, and I've got some pretty exciting things planned out for today. I have to get an early start or there's really no point in - Hey, Blondie, have you been electrocuted lately? You're hairs looking pretty... Anway -"

"Eugene!" She interrupted him with a stomp of her foot, and his eyes followed the curve of her body down to the currently offending appendage, bare, as she liked it -she had just been sleeping, but he preferred to think that she would appreciate her scantily clad feet to her new, difficult-to-walk-in-let-alone-wear-and-entirely-too-fancy-to-even-be-practical shoes, and this was because she did. "Stop it!"

With a start, he realized that she was close to tears. Her voice was breaking and the concern was so thick and interlacing within her words that it threatened to spill over the side at any moment. That feeling came back again, the one that pricked behind his eyes and beneath his cheekbones, the one that burned intensely in a sense that he could not even begin to recognize. Distress overcame him, and he huffed out a exhale of shock before drawing in an inhale of worry. Three steps and he was across the room, Rapunzel nestled safely in his arms, her small hands clinging desperately to the collar of his shirt and her cheek pushed hard again the planes of his chest. He moved his nose into the column of her neck, burying his face there and breathing again, this time breathing in only her, and feeling, albeit only slightly, better.

"Don't be upset," he cooed gently, into her ear, "I'm sorry. What's got you so riled up?"

"Eugene!" Her whisper was a hiss of misunderstood fury, directionless, a lost accusation, "You scared me. You came to my room in the middle of the night last night, and you were saying the oddest things. You were running a fever and sweating and then all the sudden you just fainted, right there in the doorstep. I didn't know what to do."

Amidst the weight of all these things that he had to deal with, somehow, he found it appropriate to say, "How in the world did you manage to drag me into bed with you?"

Rapunzel's chuckle was wet, and Flynn's heart broke a little at the sound. Oh lord, he was _sorry. _As long as she didn't _cry _he would be _anything. _"Stop it," her hand batted against his chest, with no real conviction, "and you were heavy."

"I'm very impressed."

* * *

He was a sap, that was what he was.

Picking roses, it was ridiculous, but the only thing that he could think of to properly apologize for worrying her so much this morning. (Though he honestly couldn't even remember what had happened himself. He couldn't even remember what had instigated the fear that had gripped him before her vanity, that had made him stop in his tracks and be caught by her awakening form. He just couldn't remember.) He was not terribly concerned over what had occurred the night before. He had fainted. Okay. Those things happened occasionally.

It had happened to him a lot when... After...

That wasn't a path he wanted to tread right now, actually, and with a shake of his head he attempted to dispel the memories. He had to focus on what he was doing right now.

He was picking flowers for Rapunzel, because he was a jackass and had made her worry her pretty little head off until she cried.

He was a sap, that was what he was.

"Ouch," he muttered, glaring at the rose bush that he had brushed up against, before scowling angrily at the small red line of a cut that had made its presence known upon the back of his arm. He strained his neck to see the reach of it, and thumbed it harshly with a hiss.

Rapunzel better like these.

* * *

**_A/N: _**A huh, so, awkward ending for this... But, I just couldn't squeeze anything else out of that snippet and I felt like... I needed to... I'm not sure. But I updated all the same and that was on my list of goals for today. Thus, I digress...


End file.
